


Mug Half Full

by civillove



Series: Mug Half Full Universe [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 00:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: Beth is convinced there's more than meets the eye when she stumbles into Rio's cafe one day aka the brio coffee shop AU no one asked for.--A boy that can’t be more than six standing on a chair in front of pastries display, hands holding a notepad, looking at her expectantly with a big toothy grin. He’s adorable with his brown hair, mischief filled eyes and an apron that’s tied too many times around his waist because he’s small.Beth pauses because she’s unsure of what to do but there’s no other adults behind the counter. “I’m sorry,” She says after a moment, “Do you…work here?”The boy raises his eyebrows and pats his chest. “I got an apron on.”That seems to be all the explanation he needs and she nods her head, “Right, I just…that’s very official.”He taps a crayon against the notepad he’s holding, “So can I take your order?”





	Mug Half Full

**Author's Note:**

> AN: keep in mind this is an AU and I'm keeping loose ideas from season 1, as in Dean is a douchebag :) but that's about it.  
AN2: Happy birthday Lauren!!!! I hope you have the best day and enjoy coffee shop au as much as I enjoy talking to you all the time <333

Beth’s done her best to define herself throughout her life; what makes a good girlfriend, wife, friend, sister, PTA leader, mom—she thinks about these things a lot because the last thing she wants to be is some sort of disappointment.

And yet? The only word she can think to describe herself lately is: tired.

Life has been running her ragged and of course, instead of taking a break, she finds herself diving into more things to keep herself busy. She knows she’s going to end up running into the ground but she likes the craziness, the hustle and bustle, the constantly moving…because if she slows down, if she allows a moment—

All she can think about is how everything, her entire existence, is crumbling down around her.

She guesses that’s what happen when wives, mothers, _women, _find out that their husbands have been cheating on them.

It’s not even the fact that it’s someone younger, skinnier, prettier than her but that it’s been happening for a period of time right under her nose and she never knew. The secrecy, the lies, the _disgusting _moments of shame that she feels slam into her like a tidal wave is something she never wants to get used to but it’s still hitting her just as hard even months later of figuring it out.

Beth’s joined online groups and talked about it with Ruby and Annie and she keeps waiting for it to get better but it…just doesn’t. She works it out with Dean despite not wanting to, despite hating him as much as she does—he moves out, gets an apartment, they make seeing the kids and the divorce easy even though it’s anything but.

She can’t allow herself to think about it too much, she’ll dig herself into a hole that she can’t climb out of. And yeah, that’s not perfect and she knows she’s avoiding one hell of a monsoon the longer she doesn’t deal with it but…keeping herself busy seems like a nice alternative.

Beth runs to meetings, to soccer games, to ballet and swim practices, to the grocery store, to the gym, to hang out with Ruby, to make dinner with Annie, to the bar, to the fabric store, to home, to back out again, over and over with different combinations that make it feel like something new.

It’s not until she’s sitting in her car, staring at the windshield, that she feels a blanket of exhaustion settle over her shoulders. She leans forward and presses her forehead against the steering wheel for a few moments, pulling back only when it feels like the ground has stopped spinning underneath her.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and looks across the street, seeing a café sign blinking at her like it’s trying to tell her through Morse Code she should stop in before she collapses from fatigue. Beth lets out a slow breath, goes through the mental checklist of everything else she has to do today and…just allows herself to put it on the backburner, even just for twenty minutes while she grabs some caffeine. She’s not going to be able to do what she has to do for the rest of the day if she doesn’t recharge anyways.

Beth grabs her purse and gets out of her van, jogging across the street against the light, her booties clacking against the concrete as she finally reaches her destination. It’s a small, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, _Mug Half Full _printed in white tacky letters on the glass door. She pushes it open with her shoulders, working her way inside, her eyes taking in the dark cherry wood with white accents.

The space is just big enough for three sets of tables, chairs, and a brown leather couch pressed against the window, a coffee bar at the back that has a see-through display of pastries for the day. Beth eyes the cinnamon roll that looks _so _good, cookies, loafs and scones lining the shelves. The way everything is set up makes the place feel homey instead of cramped, the heady scent of fresh coffee and baked goods wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

There aren’t many customers except for one guy with a head tattoo that looks too broad-shouldered for his table—like he’s trying to fit inside a doll house as he sips his iced coffee, reading the newspaper by the coffee bar. She clears her throat and approaches the register, pausing when she sees…

A boy that can’t be more than six standing on a chair in front of pastries display, hands holding a notepad, looking at her expectantly with a big toothy grin. He’s adorable with his brown hair, mischief filled eyes and an apron that’s tied too many times around his waist because he’s small.

Beth pauses because she’s unsure of what to do but there’s no other adults behind the counter. “I’m sorry,” She says after a moment, “Do you…work here?”

The boy raises his eyebrows and pats his chest. “I got an apron on.”

That seems to be all the explanation he needs and she nods her head, “Right, I just…that’s very official.”

He taps a crayon against the notepad he’s holding, “So can I take your order?”

She glances around one more time because…this is odd, isn’t it? No other adults around other than Mr. Head Tat guy that hasn’t looked up from his paper since she wandered in and a child is taking her order, ready to scribble it in crayon. Well, at this point—why not? She doesn’t have all day to stand in this café and think about the oddities of it all.

“Uh, a macchiato sounds good.”

“Caramel or hazelnut.”

Beth can’t help the small smile threatening to tug at the ends of her mouth. Even though he’s young, he’s clearly smart and well-abled. It reminds her of her own son, Kenny, trying to already be older than he is. “Caramel.”

The young boy scribbles down her order, “If you add a scone it’ll be one dollar less,” He smiles and it’s almost like his teeth are too big for his mouth but it’s very charming. He points inside the glass case in front of him, “We have orange and lemon…with uh, raspberry,” He slurs on the last fruit, “Out of blueberry since this mornin’.”

What a shame and her eyes flicker over the sweets, “Sure.” She points at to an orange one when the back door opens behind the counter, a man swiftly coming out.

The moment Beth lays her eyes on him, her breath sticks inside her lungs like hands reaching out and _grabbing. _He’s relatively tall, maybe a head taller than her, lean but his clothes fit him comfortably. He’s wearing black jeans and a navy-blue t-shirt that hugs his biceps, the flash of block tattoos down his arms digging underneath her skin and making her cheeks flush.

“Marcus, what I tell you about standin’ on chairs and takin’ orders?” He picks him up against his chest, his voice scolding but his face something warm—fond. He shakes his head and ruffles his hair, setting him on the ground.

“But you weren’t out here and we had customers.”

His eyes flicker over to her for a moment and Beth feels like the floor might actually open up and swallow her whole; he’s _handsome, _so easy on the eyes she feels like melting. He’s got a gentle scruff to his face, his skin tan and almost golden, the light lines of a bird tattoo on his throat and this is so ridiculous—all she wanted was some caffeine, not a heart attack.

“Oh _we _did, did we?” He says, attention back on Marcus. “Go do your homework, pop.”

He pushes him towards the back room, waiting until he disappears around the door before he moves the chair and stands in front of Beth. His hands lean against the counter, his eyes traveling down her form slowly, absorbing, like fingers slipping between the pages of a book and caressing.

“Sorry about that.”

She manages to find her voice, clearing her throat as her eyes settle on a handwritten nametag: _Rio. _“Uh, it’s…it’s fine, he was actually very professional.”

A soft smile tugs at his mouth, looking down at the notepad Marcus scribbled on. “Yeah, he does that. This your order?”

Beth curls her hair around her ear, suddenly self-conscious about her appearance even though Rio’s not actively looking at her. Since when did she let herself get so flustered in front of a barista? Her eyes are zeroed in on his neck tattoo, the wingspan of the bird a little larger than she realized, his gaze suddenly on her again as she realizes that he’s asked her a question and she’s _checking him out instead. _

He smiles, clearly amused that she’s looking at him, tilting his head at her as he waves the notepad. “I can’t read this crayon. I guess I gotta make sure he’s got a pen if he’s goin’ to be out here harassin’ pretty customers.”

Beth licks her lips and refuses to let that get the better of her, “I ordered a caramel macchiato and a scone, which I was talked into.”

He opens his mouth to reply but another guy pops his head out of the backroom, wild eyes landing on the barista, “Rio—”

Rio doesn’t even look at him, putting his hand up as he moves towards one of the coffee machines, warming it up. “Not right now.”

“Yeah but this guy is squirmin’ on uh…” He glances at Beth and she draws her eyebrows together, the shiftiness of his expression mixing with a clear nervousness that almost makes her skin want to crawl. “The orange cookie deal we just talked with him about.”

Rio’s gaze snaps over his shoulder, the muscles of his jaw working in a too-attractive manner as he grounds out, “What I just say.” It’s not a question and the guy nods once before disappearing around the door.

He turns his attention back to her and grabs a mug to put her macchiato in—it’s not a to-go cup but she doesn’t correct him. She sticks her hands in her pockets, shifting on her feet, wanting the awkward energy to dissipate so, “Orange cookies causing a ruckus, huh?”

Rio smirks a little, moving towards the register again, “That’s what happens when you’re the only one who’s good at your job,” He taps the counter. “What flavor scone?”

“Orange.”

“Good deal; it’s a dollar less and made fresh daily.”

Beth finds herself smiling, thinking about that big toothy grin that talked her into this in the first place. “So I’ve been told.” She curls her hair around her ear…and then something occurs to her as Rio takes the scone out of the case, “You made them?”

“Hmhm,” He pauses and fixes her with a look, his eyes narrowing slightly, “Is that doubt I’m sensin’?”

Her eyes widen a little because _shit, _he’s good at reading her expressions. “No I just…I guess you didn’t look like the type who would—” And somehow she’s making it worse. That’s not what she meant, she just…didn’t expect someone with a neck tattoo, someone seemingly rough on the outside, to be making delicate looking pastries.

“You’re judgin’ me.” 

“No!” She says quickly, her voice stuttering because this is quickly spiraling out of control.

“Profilin’ me as a non-baker?” He’s fucking with her, he has to be, but his face is calm and cold indifference, fingers drumming on the counter. She goes pink and he licks his lips, eyes traveling over her face like he’s mapping it out with his hands.

“That’s…totally not what I meant.”

Rio hums, “I’m gonna charge you extra for the scone if we keep talkin’.” She playfully zips her mouth closed and he punches the numbers into the register. “3.75. You can take a seat; I’ll bring your drink to you.”

Beth gives him a five, putting the change in a tip jab—hoping to somehow improve her karma before turning to take a seat in the café. She picks a table under a corkboard filled with local events and advertisements about everything she can think of under the sun: homemade jewelry, pottery classes, jazzercise, learning Spanish and French, babysitting, on and on.

She thumbs at a flyer about baking classes but doesn’t take much look at it before sitting down. Beth shrugs off her coat, her eyes flickering up to the coffee counter as Rio makes her macchiato, his hands detailed and focused on her drink. She licks her lips, placing her phone on the table, finding it hard to take her gaze off him as he works; he wears a rope bracelet and a gold pinky ring, _no wedding ring _her voice fills in but—

That doesn’t mean much, her own fingers gliding over the phantom ring she no longer has on her hand.

Beth picks up her phone and debates sending a text to her sister, types it a few times before sending: _hot barista alert. _

She texts back a few moments later: _Psh, does he look like Richard Madden? _

She smiles, curling her hair around her ear. _Different kind of hot. _

Annie takes a few moments to reply and she turns her phone over when Rio approaches the table with her macchiato and scone, “Warmed that up for you,” He motions to the pastry, turning his head as he sees the backdoor open, “Let me know if you need anythin’ else.”

Beth nods her head and watches him walk towards the back room again, slipping inside, turning her phone over to see the text from her sister: _Pics or it didn’t happen. _

A soft laugh slips out from her lips and she shakes her head, pulling her planner out of her purse as she takes a sip of her macchiato. So she’s sticking around this coffee shop a little longer than expected, that’s not necessarily a bad thing right? She looks at the list she has scribbled down for tomorrow, circling a few things she won’t get done today.

The warm scone filling her senses as she bites into it? totally worth it. She lets out a soft hum, licking crumbs off her lips, leaning back into her chair as Rio comes out from the backroom again.

“Aviles.” He says and the man with the head tat gets up, approaching the counter. Huh, must be a fellow employee on break? “I need you to make a run for me.”

“Sure boss.”

Oh wait, _boss. _Beth’s eyes flicker down to her planner, trying to work the pen as she writes down nonsense words—listening to their conversation but attempting to seem like she’s _not _listening. Rio clears his throat and waits a few moments, doing something that sounds like shuffling papers.

“Dozen of eggs.”

Aviles nods his head once and disappears out the front door, Beth following him with her eyes before sneaking a look at Rio—who’s staring at her, leaning his elbows on the counter.

“How’s that scone you didn’t think I made.”

Beth clears her throat and straightens her back. “It’s fine, it’s good.” A silence settles between them but it’s not uncomfortable and she takes a moment to look around her, noticing people walking by the café out the window.

She turns to look back at Rio, his eyes never really leaving her, his fingers folded together as he leans on the pastry display case.

“You know, I’ve never heard of your café before you’d…probably get more customers if you had a bigger sign? Or maybe better advertising, I don’t know if you’ve thought about that already.”

He raises his eyebrows, amusement dancing over his expression, “So first you don’t think I’m makin’ my own pastries and now you wanna give me advice on advertising?” Rio takes a look at the counter, patting the empty space next to the tip jar, “And me without my suggestion box.”

Beth takes a sip of her drink, lips against the rim of her mug as she says, “Okay, I’ll mark you down as not interested.”

He hums in agreement before opening up the pastry case to take attendance of what’s left, taking out a tray of scones to move into the back. She picks up her phone and sneakily takes a pic to send to Annie, who messages back a few moments later with eggplant emojis.

A soft laugh slips out of her lips as she types back: _yeah, he’s not the friendliest, however._ Though, she supposes she did kind of insult him twice without meaning to. He surprised her, there’s really no easier way to say it. Beth was thrown off by him, intending on coming in for a simple cup of caffeine and instead working through a whirlwind of attractive barista feels.

Annie texts back: _So? He doesn’t need to be nice when he looks like that. He could step on me and I’d thank him._

Beth rolls her eyes and puts her phone away. This is so something she doesn’t need in her life right now. And yet…

She glances up at the baking flyer with a curious expression.

And yet.

She stands when she finishes her coffee and pastry, bringing the mug back to the counter with her purse over her shoulder and the baking flyer between her fingers. The address detailing the ‘learn how to make blueberry scones’ matching this café—the class, she assumes, held with the owner.

Who just so happens to be staring at her as he takes the empty mug, “Is this gonna turn into some sort of stalkin’ situation?” He motions to the flyer, “Botherin’ me until I take your advice on how to flip my café and pastry game?”

She smiles, curling her hair around her ear, “Okay, clearly we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry about the pastry comment, they were delicious and I…I want to learn how to make them.” Granted, she knows _exactly _how to make scones and could probably make them even better than him…but that’s not the point.

It’s time she did something for herself, which is apparently spending more time with the hot barista learning how to do something she already knows how to do.

He narrows his eyes at her, leaning his elbow onto the counter to pillow his chin against the palm of his hand. “I dunno ma, you got time in that busy schedule for pastries?” So he’s observant too and something heated curls up between her legs and blooms upward at the idea that while she was watching him, he was also watching her.

“My name is Beth and yes, I do, I can make time.”

Rio smiles, something slow, his interest piqued. “Alright, _Elizabeth.” _His hand brushes over her own as he takes the flyer from her, tearing off the bottom with the date, time and location to hand it back to her. “I’ll see you then.”

She’s very impressed with herself that she manages a soft nod and turns on her heel to walk out without tripping over her own feet, especially since she can feel his gaze on her back all the way out the door.

\--

“So let me get this straight,” Annie says from her spot on the floor. “You’re going to take baking lessons from the hot barista even though you’re one of the most successful bakers I know?”

Beth moves around her sister, who’s lying on the living room floor, and continues to clean up the wave of mess her kids always seem to leave behind. God forbid Dean chip in when he’s here picking them up for school or dropping them off for dinner—she guesses she’s never going to be free of _that _mess no matter how hard she tries.

“I thought you were coming over to help me, not observe from the floor.”

Annie shrugs, her fingers holding onto a glass of wine that’s settled near the fireplace. “I’m here for moral support, that’s the hardest part.”

She rolls her eyes, a soft smile tugging at the end of her mouth. At least she’s almost done. She finishes packing toys away into a bin before letting out a long sigh, wandering into the kitchen to grab where she last left her own wine. She takes the glass and the bottle off the counter and joins Annie in the living room again, sitting on the couch now that there’s finally space to do so.

“You win the PTA Baker Award every end of the school year.”

Beth shrugs her shoulder, pouring herself a little more into her glass. “Well it’s not like he’s going to know that.”

Annie turns to lay on her stomach, fixing her sister with a look before taking a sip of her wine. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you? Go to this man’s kitchen at night in downtown Detroit and roll his dough with him?”

“Why must you make everything so dirty?” Beth asks but a soft laugh slips out of her lips. “And you don’t really have to roll dough, you know, just have to knead in the blueberries and flatten into triangles.”

Annie scoffs and holds her wine glass to her lips, “Barista friend is going to see right through you.”

She rolls her eyes, “His name is Rio.”

And pointedly ignores when Annie mumbles _what kind of barista name is Rio _because she doesn’t exactly care if he figures out her true intentions for wanting to make scones with him. Honestly, he probably _will _work it out once they’re in the kitchen together, Beth has always been somewhat of a natural when it comes to baking. Not only that but when she was in the café, she noticed that Rio watches her like his eyes are seemingly capable of cutting her open to look on the inside. She doesn’t know him very well but it’s the weirdest thing…he _sees her _and she almost forgot what that felt like.

To be seen, acknowledged; the way his gaze travels over her body makes her feel attractive and wanted in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time.

“I have no other obligations that night, Dean has the kids,” She shrugs, “It’s about time I do something for myself.”

Annie smiles a little, “And I one-hundred percent agree, don’t get me wrong. I guess just be careful, it’s not exactly in the best part of Detroit.”

She scrunches her nose after a moment, drawing her legs up onto the couch. “Yeah, I know,” Beth thinks about the area she was in, not as busy as other parts of downtown, his hole-in-the-wall establishment between two other brick buildings that she’s pretty sure didn’t have any businesses in them. “Such a weird place for a café.”

Her sister grabs the bottle to pour more wine for herself, “What’s it called?”

“_Mug Half Full_.”

She rolls her eyes, “Not giving him any points for creativity,” Annie grabs her phone and types in the name, scrolling a few moments with her thumb, “Huh, yeah I mean he’s got five stars on Yelp,” Beth glances down at her to see brief images of the outside of the café, a few taken inside the establishment, the menu she saw hanging on the far wall behind the coffee counter. “You’re right though, weird place for a coffee shop.”

Beth licks her lips, her thumb brushing up and down along the outside of her wine glass, “You should have seen the inside in person, really cute but…kinda weird. Not busy at all except for this guy with head tats—”

“Is body art, like, a job requirement?”

She smirks and touches her throat absentmindedly as she thinks about Rio’s bird tattoo. “He was just sitting in the corner, reading the paper until Rio wanted him to make a run for eggs.”

Annie raises an eyebrow, “Eggs?” Her whole face scrunches up. “Who needs eggs in the middle of the day?”

“We’re not about to judge him for egg emergencies, are we?”

“Unless eggs stand for somethin’ else, you know like…drugs.” Annie moves to plop down on the couch next to her, nearly jostling her wine. She must give her a look because her sister comically widens her eyes right back at her. “What I’m serious, that kind of stuff happens.”

“How did we jump from eggs to drugs? You’ve been watching those old gangster and cop movies again haven’t you.” It’s not a question and Annie grins.

“They’re based on real shit, okay? So many gang leaders would use little businesses as a front to hustle. Maybe barista friend is actually a _gang friend.” _

Beth rolls her eyes and sips her wine, “Now you just sound ridiculous.”

Annie cuddles up next to her, batting her eyelashes. “You mean opposed to before?”

She smirks and nuzzles her nose against the other’s hairline, a soft sigh tumbling out of her lungs. Her sister shrugs, pouring the last of the bottle into both of their glasses. She then holds it up like she’s going to toast,

“I’m just saying? Keep your wits about you and don’t even think about calling me if you need a getaway car.”

Beth clinks their glasses together, “My hero.” She says dryly and takes another sip of her wine.

\--

So she’s a little nervous when she pulls up in front of the café. She definitely blames that on conversations with Annie mixing with a general sense of convincing herself that she has every right to be here with doing things she wants to do. 

It’s just making pastries for God’s sake, it’s not like she intends on robbing a bank or…letting Rio bend her over the coffee counter or something just as absurd. She clears her throat, a soft flush of blush working down over the back of her neck as she shakes that thought from her mind and makes her way towards the café, purse slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed more comfortably, a pair of mom jeans and a white t-shirt, stuff she doesn’t care if she gets dirty while they bake.

When she pushes open the café door not a lot of customers, once again, greet her. There’s a couple sitting where she was the other day, chatting intently while sharing a large cinnamon roll and…Aviles? She thinks that’s what Rio called him, is sitting at his usual table drinking from a very small espresso cup. It’s almost funny, almost.

She doesn’t see Rio anywhere, however and she approaches the counter, ready to call for him when—

“He’s in the kitchen,” Aviles tells her, not looking up from his newspaper. “You can go back, just turn to the left.”

Beth blinks and takes a moment to pull her hair back into a ponytail before nodding her head, “Okay, thanks.”

She slips behind the counter, her eyes glancing at the behind the scenes workings of the intricate coffee machines, stacks of mugs and plates, a soft smile appearing at the corners of her mouth as she sees the notepad and apron Marcus was wearing stuffed under the register. She pushes on the door and encounters a small break room with a table, chairs and couch. There’s a binder on the table, along with a black duffel filled to the brim with _something, _it’s almost breaking the zipper at the seams. Her fingers itch to yank it open, just to see what’s inside, curiosity almost getting the better of her as she pauses—

And then hears the kitchen door open to her left. “Get lost?”

She turns to see Rio leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows raised. He’s dressed in blue wash jeans this time, white t-shirt and God, they’re almost _matching, _a loose maroon apron hanging over his neck. There’s a bit of amusement dancing in his eyes mixed with something else, something dangerous at the prospect of her being somewhere she shouldn’t, waiting for her response.

“Sorry is that…is that leather?” She asks, pointing to the couch.

Rio lets out something mixed between a scoff and a smirk before he’s turning to head back into the kitchen, waiting for her to follow. Beth quickly does, dropping off her coat and purse onto the table before following him into the impressive industrial space, her eyes taking in cold, metal surfaces. A small shiver travels down her spine and Rio hands her an apron to put on, her gaze distracted on the big oven behind where he’s set up all their ingredients on the table in front of it.

“Wow, this is…I definitely have kitchen envy.”

He smiles softly, licking his lips as he leans onto the table and flips through a cookbook that looks older than he is—the pages yellowing and curling under his touch. A family member’s, she guesses, but doesn’t ask. She wanders over to where he’s standing, her fingers touching a few of the ingredients and brushing over the metal table as words start clogging up her throat. For some reason the silence is making her feel skittish, she wants to keep _asking _him things so that the space doesn’t feel so empty.

“How long have you owned the café?”

Rio doesn’t look at her as he trails his finger over a recipe, making sure they have everything. “Few years now.”

She nods, letting out a slow breath. “Must be nice to be your own boss.”

He pauses then, turning to look at her and invades her space as he takes a few steps forward. A breath catches in her throat and she has to tilt her head back to look up at him because of their height difference, and just when she thinks he’s about to touch her—he reaches past her for the sugar, and smirks.

Oh.

She clears her throat and rubs the back of her neck as he gives one final look at the ingredients and moves to a sink to wash his hands. “It’s not hard bein’ your own boss with whatever it is that you’re doin.”

Beth licks her lips and her eyes flicker to his before falling to the floor; being her own boss? It’s a little easier said than done.

“What do you do, Elizabeth?” He dries his hand with a towel, moving to the side so she can wash her hands too and join him back at the table.

“I’m…” She clears her throat, wanting to bite down on the fact that she’s just a housewife or a mother but…nothing else seems to come to her rescue as a response. “I work from home.”

Rio hums under his breath, seeming to sense that there’s something more but doesn’t press, which she appreciates. “You ever make scones before?”

She shakes her head, “Nope.” And pops the ‘p’ and he starts detailing some measurements of ingredients she has to put into a bowl. Beth listens carefully, adding up all the dry materials and forcing it into a soft crumble as he whisks wet ingredients to put in after.

“Scones are pretty easy to make as long as you don’t overheat the oven and dry ‘em out. I’ve had some terrible fuckin’ scones in my life.” He shivers a little, which makes her smile, taking the dough out of the bowl and setting it on the part of the table he has lightly floured.

“Blueberries?” She asks and he nods, pushing a bowl towards her. “Frozen?”

Rio shrugs his one shoulder, “They’ll be fine. I didn’t get a chance to get fresh ones.”

Beth decides to poke his knowledge, wondering if he knows exactly what to do with them…and besides, she’s supposed to be pretending to be a novice, right? “You don’t thaw them out?”

He smiles a little, “You could if you wanted to discolor the batter.”

Handsome and smart, okay, cool. Beth clears her throat and rips her gaze away from Rio, trying to literally concentrate on the matter at hand because she has to knead the blueberries into the dough. He watches her for a few moments as she works in the blueberries, her fingers a little cold and it’s probably because she’s pressing too hard but—he’s literally moving closer to her, the heat of his body taking up the full right side of her body and it’s distracting.

“You’re chokin’ the dough.”

She blinks, “What?”

Rio smirks and steps behind her, his arms not wrapping around her yet, “You good if I show you?”

_So good _but she doesn’t say that, instead she just nods and her eyes almost close as his body presses into her own, his fingers sliding down her forearms and grabbing onto her hands. “You want your touch to be a little firm, to get out air pockets n’shit, but not so hard that you break the dough.”

And really, she knows this, because she’s made scones before but it’s something about his proximity that’s really throwing her for a loop. It’s like all of a sudden she doesn’t know how to do anything in a kitchen.

He shows her with his hands, cupping the outside of her own, fingers working so she kneads the dough with a looser touch. Beth tries not to close her eyes because she’s supposed to be learning, right? But he smells so _good, _like skin and cologne and pastries. Ridiculous. Rio pulls back after a few moments and leans against the table, putting caps and lids back on ingredients they’re done with.

He then grabs a lemon and starts grating a little bit over the dough, winking at her, “Secret ingredient.”

“Lemon and blueberries?” She asks.

“Always an element of surprise; if I didn’t know any better, I might be insulted.”

She laughs softly and works in the lemon zest before separating the dough into two parts and he watches her make two circles of equal size. “Better to be surprised than disappointed right?”

He hums a little and she pulls back, watching him cut the circle into triangles to bake—clearly her favorite part, because they’re that much closer to eating them. “I’m actually surprised I wasn’t baking with the real owner of this café; his name is Marcus, right?”

Rio pauses just a for a second and she can sense the shift on his face, in his body language as he lays out the triangles on a baking tray. As open as he was about sharing baking tips is as closed off he suddenly becomes at the mention of who she assumes is his son. A wall goes up between them, tall and thick as Rio avoids the comment and grates a little bit of lemon in the remaining milk and pushes the bowl towards her.

“You ask a lot of questions,” He hands her a brush. “Coat the scones and then they can go in.”

She might not know a lot about him but it’s clear he doesn’t like to be asked things. Beth hums under her breath and does as she’s told, Rio taking a moment to put the scones into the oven before setting a timer for fifteen minutes.

“Did you know scones originated in Scotland?”

Rio licks his lips, “Did you know you have flour on your face?” He smirks and swipes it away with his thumb, pausing a moment to tuck a random strand of her hair behind her ear.

It feels like her heart jumps all the way into her throat, the action so sudden and strong that she nearly coughs. She pulls back from him after a moment and his hand falls, moving to clean up the ingredients as she takes her apron off.

“Are you the only one who works here?”

He looks over his shoulder at her, “Small business, don’t really need many other people. I got Aviles; he does runs for me.”

“You do the baking, the register, you make the coffee and—”

“Did I put out a ‘help wanted’ sign I don’t know about?” He asks, his voice the tiniest bit sharp at her prying. “This a job interview?”

“I’m just…impressed that you run a small business like this pretty much on your own.”

Some sort of lightbulb goes off above Rio’s head, his chin tipping back a little as he nods, his hands falling to his own waist as he faces her. “Ah, right, I forgot…you had ideas about me flippin’ my game.”

She laughs a little, covers her hand with her mouth. “That’s…not exactly where I was going with that…but since you asked…”

He rolls his eyes and glances at the timer, “You got until this goes off to tell me your ideas, seein’ as how I’m never gonna hear the end of it unless I just give you the time to talk.”

Beth chews on her lower lip and rushes into the break room for her purse, pulling out her planner. When she brings it back into the kitchen, Rio is still leaning against the table even though he’s cleaned up their shared ingredients. She opens up her planner to the last few pages she was randomly scribbling on last night after too much wine and not enough sleep but she’s got…a few details about how to improve his market.

Now, she’s not going to assume about how much money he makes because clearly he gets by, otherwise his coffee shop wouldn’t still be open but it doesn’t seem like he has many customers and basically her ideas are just how to get more people through the door. Small advertisements, events he could host other than baking classes, partnerships he could make with the local community—that kinda thing.

And maybe she’s so used to talking to Dean that this is surprising to her but when she turns to look at Rio, to see what he thinks…he’s actually _listening _to her with his full attention. He’s leaning against the table with his hand pillowed in his palm, amusement tugging the edges of his mouth but…it’s still something she hasn’t gotten in a long time. Someone willing to take her seriously.

“These are good ideas, but I got enough customers.” Rio tells her after a few moments, checking on the scones in the oven before adjusting the time on the timer.

Beth rubs the back of her neck, closing her planner. “Three, including me?”

He laughs softly but it’s not because he finds her funny, the muscles of his jaw working in a way that tells her she’s poking at his level of patience and willingness to entertain her, “What you been in here twice and suddenly you know everythin’?”

Beth shakes her head, because no, that’s not what she’s saying but she just…she finds it odd. Wouldn’t he want more customers? Maybe he’s just a typical man who doesn’t like to be told how to run his business. Her eyes run over his form as the timer goes off and he reaches inside the oven to take the scones out—and the peak of a golden tipped gun flashes in the light in the waistband of his pants.

Or there’s something else going on that she doesn’t know about.

Rio puts the scones on the oven, turning it off and they’re a perfect golden brown. He lets out a soft sigh, turning to her and quickly follows her line of sight before fixing his shirt, hiding his gun from her again.

“Not the safest part of the neighborhood.” He tells her and starts using a spatula to lift some scones, putting them on a to-go plate for her.

Beth watches him for the longest moment, trying to connect the dots even though she doesn’t quite understand where the dots are coming from or where they are in order to match them up. She’s always joked about having a sixth-mom sense, something that told her when one of her kids were hurt when they were at school before the principal called. While she stands there in Rio’s kitchen watching him spatula scones, she’s starting to get that sixth sense with no mom context.

This whole thing feels weird.

“We all got our reasons I guess.” She licks her lips, standing her ground as she refers to Aviles being the only other person who works here, him not wanting her advice on how to draw in more customers, and why he’s carrying a gun.

Rio returns her gaze, even and indifferent, his fingers brushing hers as he hands over the plate of scones. “We all got our reasons,” He repeats, “Just like we both weren’t gonna bring up that you clearly know how to make scones without my help and yet, you’re still here.”

Her mouth opens a little, probably resembling some sort of goldfish but for some reason she can’t seem to find the right words buried under her tongue. Instead he smirks and sticks his hands in his pockets, his eyes traveling over her frame with a curiosity that softens his edges.

“Have a good night, Elizabeth.”

And passes her on his way out of the kitchen.

\--

So it’s not like Beth spends her time keeping an eye on the café by driving past it every so often because that would be ridiculous. She certainly doesn’t sit in her van across the street watching through her windshield for something suspicious because that would be…crazy.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me come with you.” Annie says, Beth’s phone resting against the dash on speaker.

Beth settles further down in her seat, peering over the steering wheel to watch Rio walk into this café after putting a sign on the sidewalk about half-priced cinnamon rolls. “Sometimes it’s a one-woman stakeout job, Annie, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re basing this off of what? A duffel bag and a gun?” She’s eating something crunchy which reverberates inside the van, making her scrunch her nose.

“Like you need more evidence than that?”

“True,” Annie agrees quickly, “What’s he doing?”

“Uh,” Beth leans up a little and hates that she’s squinting but it felt like too much to bring binoculars. Luckily the glare of sun through the front window isn’t obscuring too much; there’s a few customers in there and…

“His son is at the coffee counter again. Aw, he’s helping him put scones in the case.”

“He has a son?” Annie asks, “That doesn’t sound very gangster-y.”

Beth scrunches her eyebrows together, “What gangsters can’t have kids?”

“I dunno who makes the rules Beth, okay? I just enforce them.” She crinkles a bag, probably sticking her hand in to get another mouthful. “What do you expect to see today?”

She sighs and leans back against her seat, her hair flowing around her shoulders statically. “I don’t know,” Beth runs a hand over her face. “Something shady. The whole thing just feels weird.”

“Or maybe you just feel weird that you have sexual feelings toward a random barista with a really hot bird tattoo.” She can’t quite glare at Annie through her phone but her sister must sense it through the silence because she scoffs, “Fine, or he’s a gang leader. We’ll go with that one.”

Beth glances over the steering wheel again, narrowing her eyes, “The only other guy who works there keeps carrying duffel bags back and forth from a sleek, black car parked outside.”

“Is it his?”

She shrugs her one shoulder, “Maybe? It has to be.”

Annie lets out a long sigh and something makes a _poofing _noise in the background as if she’s thrown herself onto her couch, “Could be drugs or fake cash or…he found a really good yard sale; you said his café could use a little more in it, right?”

“I said a potted plant or a few more lounging chairs wouldn’t hurt. You’re not fitting that kind of stuff into duffel bags.” Beth runs a hand through her hair and sits up a little, watching a small group of guys wander into the café and…as far as she can tell, disappear into the back.

About ten minutes later, they come back out but…

“Okay, group of guys go in empty handed, leave the café with a few duffel bags.”

Annie’s voice is muffled like she has her face pressed against a pillow, “Okay, so they’re all in the same baking group, exchanging…whisks and shit.”

“Seriously?” Beth huffs, making her bangs flutter into the air. “You know I wouldn’t have even had this idea if it wasn’t for you.”

“Maybe he’s part of an underground bakery ring.” Annie laughs softly at her own joke, “What’s he doing now?”

“I stopped watching,” Beth presses her forehead against the steering wheel. “I cannot believe I’ve been sitting outside this coffee shop for hours.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t invite me.”

She’s about to lift her head when there’s a soft rapping on her window, making her jump. Her eyes widen as she sees Rio standing there, an expectant look on his face, eyes drawn between amused and annoyed.

Beth starts to roll down her window, “Uh…I can explain.”

“I figured since you’ve been sittin’ out here for a while you could use a coffee.” Rio says and proceeds to hand her one through her window.

“Oh my God, Beth, is that hot barista friend?”

She quickly hits the end call button and her phone falls to the floor with a loud clutter but at least she didn’t spill the coffee all over herself. Rio smirks, just a little, his mouth open a little as he considers her and at least he seems a bit more amused than annoyed.

“Caramel macchiato, right?” Rio asks, taking a step back from her van, “You should blow on that, probably help.” He begins his walk back to the café and Beth swiftly gets out, not bothering to lock the doors as she rushes after him.

“You’re not going to ask why I’m out here?”

He sighs and turns to look at her, not quite across the street to where his café is. “Nah,” He then fixes her with a look that’s designed to throw her off balance, dig under her skin, make heat pool at her very center. “I know why you’re here; ever since that night we made scones you’ve been wantin’ me to hit that.”

Beth blinks, “_What?” _

“Oh I’m sorry sweetheart,” He licks his lips, “We could go on a few dates first.”

Her mouth opens wide enough that it feels like her jaw is going to hit the sidewalk. “That is…that is _not _what I’m…that’s—” Rio smiles something slow and far too attractive for his own good. He likes this, likes making her feel flustered; well she refuses to let him throw her off track. “I know you’re doing something shady with your café. The lack of customers, the black duffel bags in and out, weird meetings in your back room.”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at her as he starts walking backwards towards the entrance of the café, “I dunno what to tell you, ma, I’m just your friendly neighborhood caffeine dealer.”

Beth crosses her arms over her chest and stares a hole into his back as the door of _Mug Half Full _closes.

_We’ll see about that. _

_\--_

It takes her a few days to decide she’s going to do this and even then? She still finds herself standing around the back of Rio’s café, pacing, on the verge of leaving this craziness behind and going home. She just hates the fact that he’s dug so far under her skin, burrowing there, him and his…stupid neck tattoo and scruff along his jawline and his hands working hers into scone dough and honestly? She blames all of this on Dean.

If he hadn’t cheated on her with half the women at Boland Motors, she never would have found herself in this little café trying to figure out what this guy’s secret was.

Or maybe she’d still find herself right here all the same because she’s _always _wanted something more, deep down; to be decent at something that’s not just PTA meetings, baking or crafting. But is this really it? Is this what she wants to fill the void?

Because if Rio’s involved in what she _thinks _he is then it could be dangerous…and she hates the small thrill that works up her spine at the idea of it.

She strides forward, biting on her lower lip as she eyes a small, dirty, window at the back of the café. It’s high up, so she’ll have to step on some garbage cans to see into it and once again she goes through a whirlwind of emotions as she quietly hoists herself up to try and balance. This is nuts; she’s actually here after hours in the back lot of a café, looking through a high window that mostly shows her the breakroom so she can spy on a barista who she’s convinced is some sort of gang leader.

So Beth’s determined…it’s a likeable quality, okay?

She lifts herself up on her toes, nearly holding her breath as she peers inside the window—Rio’s seated on the edge of the table, Aviles near the kitchen door as two other men sit on the couch. She can’t quite make out their faces, but she can _hear _everything, so that makes it a lot easier.

“This is ten grand less than you promised.” One of them is holding a duffel bag.

Rio shrugs, “Consider it a convenience fee for me waiting for you two to get your shit together. I’m not paying you to wait, I’m paying you to wash cash quickly and effectively. You went over three business days.”

“It was only three days—” The other guy not holding the duffel tries to protest, to which Rio stands and snaps back,

“Three days _over _when I asked you to be fuckin’ finished.” His voice is like gravel, cold and harsh, sending a shiver down her spine. “And you can tell Marko I’m done puttin’ up with his ass too.”

Beth’s not one for ‘I told you so’ moments, but if she was? This would definitely fit into that category.

“Marko’s sorry,” The one guy says, “Really—”

“Does it look like I care?” Rio asks, his jaw working as he straightens his back. “He had one fuckin’ job on the register and couldn’t even do that right. A six-year-old runs that shit better than he does.”

“He already lost his hand…” Duffel guy comments, glancing at Aviles behind Rio.

“He’s lucky that’s all he lost when I figured out he was stealin’ from me, and you make sure you tell him that.” Rio takes a step towards them and while his gun isn’t even in his hands, you can tell he means business, his stature just as threatening as a weapon. “I’ll contact you clowns next week, get the fuck out of my café.”

They move quickly past Aviles and pass into the front of the café, Beth chewing on her lower lip as she lowers herself just a little out of view of the window. As soon as she leaves here, she’s driving straight to Annie’s apartment to tell her about all of this, she doesn’t care what time it is—Dean has the kids for the night. Though while she enjoys being right, she’s not sure whether she wants to approach Rio about it again…no matter how exciting it sounds. What could she possibly offer?

Beth turns to jump off the trash cans and—

“You gotta be shittin’ me.” It’s Rio. It’s Rio and he’s staring at her and damn he moves fast because he was literally _just _inside the café.

She opens her mouth to say something but missteps on the trashcan and it starts to tumble, a sharp squeak leaving her mouth as she begins to fall over. In one fluid step he’s there, catching her, probably mostly out of instinct because once he has her, he manhandles her against the back of the café. She lets out a soft breath as her back connects with the brick wall and the shine of his golden gun reflects off the streetlamps as he takes it up and tucks it up under her chin.

“Give me one good reason why I’m not pullin’ this trigger.” His breath is heated against her skin and while she knows she should be scared, that he’s got a _gun _pointed along her throat—there’s something electrically charged about the moment.

Rio’s body is perfectly pressed against her own, the cold metal of the gun running a thrill down her spine and…it’s so strange because she doesn’t know him and there’s no hesitance in the way he touches her. He doesn’t treat her like she’s made of glass; he’s rough and violent and threatening her and yet…

Yet she knows, somewhere deep down, that he’s not going to hurt her.

She clears her throat, swallowing against the metal, “Just a regular, run-o-the-mill, coffee shop owner, huh?”

Rio licks his lips, a wall seemingly exploded into pieces between them as he says, “Among other things.”

Beth lets out a slow breath, attempting to move but he doesn’t let her, using the weight of his body to keep her in place. Okay, fine, she’s not going anywhere and she thinks a moment about what she wants to say because…at first she didn’t think she could offer him anything of value but now that she’s thinking about it—

Her eyes light up with an idea. “You need someone to work the register.” He blinks at her but says nothing. “For someone to run the front while you work…in the back. Someone who doesn’t raise suspicion, who doesn’t ask questions—”

Now Rio laughs, pulling back from her and allowing her space to breathe. He puts his gun away in the waistband of his jeans, shaking his head. “And I’m supposed to believe that’s you?”

She straightens herself away from the wall, curling her hair around her ear. “So…what do you think?”

“I think? You should go home.” Rio runs a hand over the lower half of his jaw before he pinches the bridge of his nose, like he can’t quite believe he’s having this conversation.

Beth rocks on the balls of her feet as he starts to walk away, that sleek black car of his parked out in front of the café. “I can start at fifteen bucks an hour.” She finds the nerve to tease and Rio turns, gives her a look that she can’t quite decipher—he’s amused but there’s something else, something deeper.

_Impressed _maybe. He lets out a short breath, “Elizabeth.” He pauses, meeting her gaze. “Go home.”

She watches him disappear around the building before a soft smile tugs at the ends of her mouth—it at least feels good being right.

\--

“So that’s it?” Annie asks, leaning on her kitchen counter in clear disappointment.

Beth looks up at her from her couch, a soft sigh tumbling out of her mouth. She’ll probably spend the night here, there’s really no need to go home and her sister’s couch has always been really comfortable.

“That’s it…” She holds a pillow in her lap, playing with the loose fraying. “I mean, I was wrong, there was nothing shady going on at all.”

Annie lets out a soft sigh that puffs her cheeks out, carrying two glasses of wine over to her couch and settling down in the other corner. “We were so certain.” She tilts her head back a little to play with her short blonde hair. “So you just showed up, back of the café and what—he was counting scones for the next day?”

Beth runs her thumb along the stem of her wine glass, thoughts drifting to her encounter with Rio outside of the café, his body pressed against her own, the cold metal of his gun, the way he watched and _listened _to her speak despite being frustrated by her presence.

“He was making cinnamon rolls,” She licks her lips, “His hands are definitely nice to watch.”

Annie smiles, nudging her with her foot. “I’m sure they’re not just good at molding pastries.”

“Stop.” Beth laughs a little, “Regardless, I guess he is just a boring barista.”

“Still hot though.” Annie winks, “He doesn’t have to be a gang leader for you to be all up in that.”

She takes her glass of wine, her lips hovering on the rim a moment before taking a long sip. While the idea is tempting, Beth can’t find it in herself to consider what that might look or feel like, something heated and low in her stomach nearly making her squirm.

Reminding him of her proposal, however, is something she’s going to find time to do.

\--

Beth doesn’t make her way back to the café for a few weeks; time with her kids, PTA meetings, working things out with Dean and just…general duties of her being a good mother and (ex) wife taking up the minutes in her schedule.

She lets out a soft sigh and parks her van, wandering into the café as her shoulder presses the door open, Aviles at his same table while Rio’s at the coffee bar. A kid with a bicycle is near the couch, sipping on espresso, giving her a floppy smile when she comes in and walks up to the register.

Rio doesn’t look up at her, but she can tell he senses her presence in the way his shoulders tense just a little. He’s wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt today with a beanie on his head, not quite covering his ears.

“And here I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you again.” He mumbles, fixing a sign on the counter for half-priced lattes.

“I don’t give up so easily.” She fixes her purse over her shoulder and taps her fingers against the counter, eyeing a cinnamon roll that looks far too good for her to pass up. “You know if you changed your signs to half-priced pastries and then did a happy hour for lattes later in the day, you’d get more people.”

He narrows his eyes at her, “You go to business school for cafés or what?”

She smiles, “Just a white suburban mom who’s drank a lot of caffeine,” She jokes but part of her is very serious—she just so happens to know what makes a good deal and what might drive more people into this café.

It’s not the best part of the neighborhood, but with a little more exposure on social media and good deals? He could get more customers.

“Staying under the radar,” Rio says after a moment, his eyes glancing over his shoulder at the kid with the bike, “Is more important to my café than standing out.”

Beth licks her lips, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she considers her response before, “I get where you’re coming from…but it’ll look less suspicious if you’re well liked in the community. A weird little café with not a lot of customers on a daily basis sticks out like a sore thumb. Having customers is a good thing, they become your…alibi.” She trails off, trying to connect the dots for him.

Rio’s quiet for a moment, considering her, moving to the left to begin working on making her caramel macchiato—the machines hiss with steam and fresh coffee gurgles to life, filling the air with its heady scent.

He looks to the ceiling a moment like he’s trying to banish a thought that’s just crossed his mind, moving to get a small plate from under the counter and pulling her out a cinnamon roll from the glass case.

“That’s exactly what I wanted,” She says, pleased.

He rolls his eyes a little, but it’s seemingly fond. “You’re very predictable.” He then finishes her macchiato, putting it into a mug before setting it in front of her. He taps his thumbs against the edge of the counter, his tongue clicking off the roof of his mouth.

“Aight, you’re gonna make advertisements and run the register.”

Beth’s eyes brighten instantly, a thrill of excitement working down her spine as she takes a step towards moving back behind the counter. Aviles’ chair skids on the floor, like he’s going to get up to stop her but Rio puts his hand up, stilling him. He allows her to round the counter, standing next to him and in front of the intricate coffee machines.

“Probationary.” Rio grumbles out, rubbing the back of his neck like he already regrets this decision.

Beth smiles, “Okay, so I’ll work on advertisements and the register.”

“Among other things.” Rio repeats that familiar phrase and she looks over her shoulder at him, unspoken words hanging in the air about what her future might hold. It’s dangerous and exciting and it grabs a hold of her stomach and _pulls—_she can’t quite stop the smile that threatens to stretch across her face.

She splits the cinnamon roll with her fingers, taking a bite before licking the icing off her skin. Rio watches the action, his eyes traveling over her mouth before he clears his throat, motioning to her coffee.

“You know how to make one of those?”

“Cinnamon roll, yes, macchiato no.” She says and swallows, using a napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth.

“Do you know how to make _any _type of fancy coffee?”

She smiles a little sheepishly, “Does working a Keurig count?” Rio sighs and looks to the ceiling, Beth quickly covering up with, “I can learn.”

He watches her a moment before nodding, taking one of her hands and setting it on the dial on one of the complicated looking coffee machines. He uses her fingers to press a few buttons, demonstrating what it does.

“Good,” He says after a moment, holding her gaze. “Because I’m gonna teach you.” 


End file.
